


Unconventional

by spica_starson



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spica_starson/pseuds/spica_starson
Summary: A brief glimpse into what the people around them see when they stumble upon the uncanny friendship.(Each chapter is from a different characters’ POV and can be read separately if you wish. Will add more POV.)
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 123





	1. Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> I've been itching to write something about those two because I couldn't find a lot that really nailed it for me, so here we are! Just a character study slash breaking down what I love the most about Merlin & Arthur's relationship throughout the series, and it’s fun to see it through other people’s lenses. I thought the series did them justice till the very end. 
> 
> Some might be direct references to the episodes, but I’ve snuck in a few original scenes as well to fill in the gaps.
> 
> Enjoy! Comments & feedbacks are appreciated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uther thought he might have done a foolish thing that night when a peasant boy saved his son's life.

It wasn’t an unusual sight to anyone, the two of them walking side by side throughout the castle conversing over whichever matter seemed relevant that day.

And that in itself should be a troubling matter for the King of Camelot.

Servants were meant to be quiet, subservient, abiding to their master’s will whenever they were needed—not sporting goofy smiles and quipping out cheeky remarks at their masters, their quality of performance and etiquette below the average of what was acceptable in the heart of Camelot herself. Servants should bow their heads at all times, their pace a good few feet behind their masters and only looking up when prompted.

He should have stopped it. But.

The day he had rewarded the bumbling yet (admittedly) brave fool the position in the Royal Household as his son’s manservant for saving Arthur’s life, it was done so in a split-moment decision, his heart still hammering loudly in his chest at the unexpected attack on what was supposed to be a festive night for all. Though Arthur had later on privately expressed his grievances on the sudden assignment, it wasn’t the first manservant he had been ‘gifted’ with. Merlin was just another one that would eventually retire and that was that.

Perhaps he should blame it on his own emotions clouding his judgement, judging by what happened the night of the feast of his men and Bayard’s. What was supposed to be a ceremonial toast meant to bridge the gaps between their two kingdoms shattered in an instant with that same lowly serving boy ( _a nobody_ ) barging in with a bold accusation, his usually unassuming presence louder than anything else in the banquet hall.

There was no fear, no doubt at all in the boy’s face even as his son tried to cleverly, and not for the first time, pave a way to his idiotic servant’s pardon. On any other occasion would he have allowed it, for having a servant steal the spotlight is nothing short of embarrassing and a waste of time; but Uther would _not_ let him through after the stunt he pulled tonight—if not for his own pride then for his kingdom’s.

“He’ll drink it.” It was a fitting punishment. And a game he was more than willing to play with his cards blown out of his hands, even as he watched his son grow frantic, losing his own composure over a servant.

(His manservant. His responsibility.)

Perhaps if he had listened closer, he would have noticed the desperation in Arthur’s voice sooner.

Uncertain blue eyes flitted over to his son in a split second before they harden. Staring at him.

 _‘I’ll show you,’_ they screamed. Brave yet foolish. He was but a _mere servant_ , and yet-

The goblet fell with a clang and Arthur’s panicked shouts were drowned in the sound of blades drawn from their sheaths. Another peace treaty failed—Uther was both a touch disappointed but not surprised, anger and weariness coming forth easily as if they were close friends.

 _He’s always been too soft_ , he thought to himself, distantly watching his son haul his manservant on one shoulder and _ran_ , dignity clinging loosely to the prince as his men surrounded Bayard’s. The same thought repeated in his mind as he crushed the tiny, insignificant flower in his hand, letting it drop to the ground as Arthur’s heart did.

 _No, not soft,_ he chided himself in the privacy of his chambers, much, much later after Gaius had broken the truth behind the betrayal to him: 

_Honor. He’s always been honorable._

And honor and responsibility are two fine qualities to have as Crown Prince.

Merlin was more than just a servant to Arthur, he could tell. He would be a fool to not notice. His dedication was unrivaled and throughout the years, he failed to detect any hidden agendas behind his loyalty to Arthur. And as he watched his son, the boy he treasured more than anything else in the world grow into a fine and just man, more than fit to lead the kingdom one day, his worries were laid to rest.

He saw himself and Gaius in them—relics of the old times, connected by the secrets and old friendship that was stretched beyond time and magic itself.

“You show him…the most extraordinary loyalty,” he mused that one faithful morning, the boy fussing about preparing him for what seemed to be his last and final battle. A sacrifice for his son’s life in return—anything less would be unacceptable.

“Well…” Merlin fumbled with his words, and yet his movements were streamlined, efficient—no doubt from how often he had to help Arthur into his own armor. “You could say, there is a bond between us,” he settled in the end. Here in this empty room, with no eyes to spy and no ears to eavesdrop, an edge of boldness settled in the boy’s eyes as they gazed into his own, his words withholding nothing but the truth.

Images of a poisoned goblet and raised weapons flitted unprompted through his mind.

“I’m glad,” he uttered quietly, searching for any signs of lies in those eyes and finding none, absolutely _none_. Uther meant it. _Take care of him_ , he said as he left for his death.

Perhaps issuing this serving boy to his son was not a mistake he would regret after all.


	2. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Princess Mithian agreed to give her hand in marriage, this was not what she was expecting.

Camelot was an enigma. Never would she have thought she would envy something of hers.

This whole kingdom sang a different tune from Nemeth, that was for sure. And yet the same view greeted her as she sauntered on her way to the castle—poverty, farmers, miles of greenery and forests. It was nothing extraordinary, to be quite frank.

The journey from Nemeth was not the most pleasant with all the miles she had to cover on the back of her horse, but such is her duty as a princess. After months of negotiation, unending debate and discussion from both ends, the two Kingdom had finally reached an agreement and a solution that would put this whole dispute to rest.

_Marriage._

The easiest route to take they had said, with both parties willing and cooperative, and Mithian voiced her agreement as such.

 _It is my duty, as it always has been,_ she had told her aging father, her voice calm and certain, never betraying the slight drop of her heart as her anxiety warred within her.

No. No point in regrets. She refused to wallow in self-pity when she had been prepared for this eventuality for so long. Even if she had to throw away her childhood dreams of romance and happy endings; they did not belong in a life of an heir to the throne.

Besides, everyone did say the newly-crowned King was quite pleasing to the eye.

Dread curled beneath her calm, regal exterior as His Majesty greeted her in the courtyard, her entourage parting to make way for her entrance.

_What sort of a King is he? What if he was as terrifying as his late father was?_

Questions she buried deep down as she cleared her mind of any expectations, emptying her thoughts as she played the role expected of her perfectly.

So when the young King openly gazed at her for a moment too long, failing to grasp at words as silence slowly settled like a breeze all around them, she nodded her head and remarked with a teasing tone:

“Are we to stay in this chill all day?”

It appeared her first impression of him was not so bad after all.

* * *

She had expected the King’s charming inexperience to surprise her the most when she arrived, but that was where she was mistaken. That place was instead taken by what appears to be the enigma that is his faithful manservant, Merlin.

Or rather, the rather peculiar relationship the two of them have.

Shaking her head to herself, she decided both were equally puzzling.

But she was not Crown Princess for no reason. Taking everything in stride, she quietly watched and graced a quaint smile at the King when he briefly paused from his subtle ‘debate’ with his servant over what to serve at the feast tomorrow to nod at her with a disarming smile, doing his best to maintain appearances for her sake. (She would much rather call it bickering, but that she knew better than to voice it aloud.)

It was the little things, she noted.

Never leaving the King’s sides, the young man was like a shadow, always there to aid his King in whatever way he can. Be it attending the short council meeting between Arthur’s court and hers the night of her arrival, verifying the legitimacy of their agreement, or when she stumbled into their hushed conversation on her way to her chamber. She stopped and listened, making sure to keep herself hidden from the light.

“…So?”

“Pardon me, sire?” An innocent lilt, very convincing even to her ears. Arthur just huffed indignantly.

“You know what I’m referring to, Merlin. Don’t bother playing the fool now.”

“…Well…she _is_ a beauty, that’s for sure,” Merlin muttered to himself, it appears, a small chuckle at the end of his words. “And a truly clever mind to boot, it appears. I expect nothing less from Nemeth.”

Then there was more silence, the rustling of clothes suggesting someone was getting restless.

“You know, Arthur…I _do_ understand the importance of this marriage now, contrary to what you believe. As well as your previous need of…secrecy.” A huff of laughter, bittersweet with no sign of mirth. “But that doesn’t mean I have to be _happy_ about the first-”

_“Merlin.”_

His voice dropped drastically, a hint of a growl grinding down his words. A clear warning. _Don’t go there._ But there was also a touch of something weary behind it…almost like a plea, as if he had no qualms to deal with whatever offense his servant would invoke.

”I know, I know…I won’t. I promise.” The last word was added like an afterthought.

The man sounded so far away and forlorn that she couldn’t help but feel like there was something bigger that she was missing here. A puzzle piece to complete this new image of Camelot she was building, a very important piece.

More silence, stretching enough until she felt uncomfortable having stayed still for so long.

A sigh.

“Get some rest,” muffled, Arthur was probably rubbing his face with his hand as he spoke. “You’re free to go for tonight—I have everything I need in my chambers already. Just be sure to not be late tomorrow morning, you hear me?”

“But sire-”

“ _Go_ , Merlin.”

A beat. “…Of course, my lord.”

After making sure both footsteps have receded down the hallway and nowhere near her, the Princess slowly extracted herself from the shadows and made her way over to her chambers, her steps quick and light as her mind whirled with more questions.

Mithian was taken aback, for good reason. _What sort of King would concern himself over the opinion of his manservant? Just **who** is this manservant?_

The answer came to her the next morning like clarity struck her very core, making her feel as foolish as an oaf. _Of course._

That one friendly shoving when they thought no one was looking, the endless teasing (and sometimes) bullying Arthur would rain down on Merlin, the casual back and forth they would throw each other when Arthur wasn’t busy trying to impress her after their picnic…

It all made sense now.

And she knew that instant that Merlin’s reluctance to be on good terms with her would do no one any good in the long run.

* * *

“You’re not a fan of hunting?” She called out to him, smiling.

That stopped him. He looked surprised, and Mithian could understand. Never would he have expected a Princess from another Kingdom to reach out to him for a topic that insignificant, that she was sure of. But she needed to do this. Uncertainty crossed his face before he answered, that snark he was known so well for giving a bite to his words:

“What sport is it when one side is dogs and spears and crossbows and the other nothing?”

This was their first time properly conversing after her arrival, what with him avoiding her like some kind of plague, only sending half-hearted smiles and small bows her way when he needed to. For appearances’ sake. For Arthur’s.

He was a good friend indeed.

Her smile dropped into something small, “Not much of a fan of me either, are you?”

The expression he wore after was unreadable, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to refute her claims or be honest. In the end, he said nothing, just continued to watch her as she came closer.

“Come on, Merlin,” she shrugged, her lips quirking, “I’d have to be a fool not to notice.”

His reasons are his own, and she was willing to trust that this man who has Arthur’s trust and is his confidant has good ones. She just hoped…

“One thing I’ve learned since being here is that…Arthur values your opinion above all others. Even if he’d be the last to admit it.”

He chuckled, a real, true smile blooming for the first time in their interaction as he laughed out: “You can say that again.”

She watched him. Peculiar indeed, but…it was the good kind. She didn’t mind at all, in fact…she grew to quite like it. Camelot was starting to look like a place she would not mind living in as she stayed longer in it and start learning more of its inner workings. A young and charming King who loved and cared for his people and was loved in return, whose manservant is heard to be loyal to a fault and happened to also be his friend and confidant…

Perhaps, she _would_ get her happily ever after here after all.

“All I ask is that you give me a chance,” she not quite implored, but it was as close as she could get away with, her features softening as she genuinely looked into his eyes, trying her best to convey her good will to him. _I just want this to work but I need your approval too. Please._ “Can you do that?”

Merlin took a long moment to continue staring, no doubt many thoughts whizzing around in his mind as he eyed her critically for a few good seconds. But then,

“…Yeah.” A huff of laughter and a smile not a hundred percent on board but Mithian was willing to take it. _One step at a time._

“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it.

The future was looking bright.

* * *

The future was not looking so bright after all.

Then again, such is her life as a Crown Princess, heir to the throne. Sacrifices must be made, even at the expense of the Kingdom that is not hers (and her own happiness).

She should be furious, she thinks. A few days of unspoken promises and hopes and now it was all crumbling down as well.

But as she saw the small, comforting smile Merlin threw at Arthur after she dismissed him rather harshly, his solemn and formal apology hanging in the air between them, she found that all she felt was green envy.

Envy and a grudging respect.

To be so loved that you would give up the safety of your kingdom…

To maintain a friendship so strong you would seek their council regardless of the contrasting ranks…

She flashed the King a small smile as she bid him goodbye, but not before sneaking a glance at his manservant as she turned to leave. There was a small smile on his lips, but it was the most sincere she had ever seen him send her way.

 _‘Thank you,’_ it seemed to say, heartfelt emotions surging in that one look.

Princess Mithian of Nemeth left and never looked back. She would do well to stay in good terms with Camelot from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t expect to really enjoy writing Mithian yet here we are haha. Have you ever wondered how exactly Mithian figured out Merlin’s important role in Arthur’s life? Bc same. This was meant to fill in that gap haha.
> 
> I have 2 more characters in mind and I’m quite excited to write them! It would be interesting to see through their eyes.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed what I have so far! Feedbacks are more than welcome.


	3. Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon slowly realized just how much care play a part in their friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains a missing scene from ‘The Darkest Hour’ (S04E01-02)

The young lad—Merlin, he found soon enough, was full of surprises it seems.

When he found the new serving boy following the prince out into hunting, he thought nothing of it, only that from now on, they would have another permanent addition in their trips. What the boy lacked in hunting skills, he made up for it by providing a full tummy to their party, a warm meal after a job well done. He had more grace in himself than to discredit that of course.

But when his gaze fell upon the young lad again before sunrise, saddling up alongside them as if he was about to join their patrol, his eyebrows shot up.

“Sire?”

“Hm?” The prince mumbled distractedly beside him, fiddling with the handle of his sword. When the knight did not answer immediately, eyes transfixed on the boy a few feet away from him, Arthur looked up, puzzled. “What is it, Sir Leon?”

“...Far be it from me to question you, sire, but why does your manservant look like he’s about to join us?”

The young lad was never shown to be adept in combat during their hunts, much less able to defend others let alone himself if anything were to happen. Hence, he deduced his concern was appropriate. Understanding washed over Arthur’s contorted features, smoothing out with a wry grin.

“He insisted,” he said simply.

As if that was answer enough. Leon waited for any further elaboration, and finding none, he pressed his lips together in a tight line and nodded tersely, once.

“...I see.”

Arthur glanced at him, eyes raking over the uncertainty of his trusted Knight. Something must have caught his attention because he huffed out a bewildered laugh, finding whatever it was amusing.

“Well, if you must know—he made a very compelling argument on how we need a proper cook to prepare our meals as we stake out the area, and an extra hand in lugging our share of supplies is more than welcome.”

Letting the silence linger for a few more seconds, Leon allowed himself: “Indeed, sire. But don’t you think it’s a bit…”  _dangerous?_

“I know.” There was a tense pull on his shoulders, a tired smile resting on the prince’s features, as if the same thought had crossed his mind more times than he could possibly fathom. Or that he had tried to say the same thing and failed. 

More questions rose to the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. Leon did not survive as a Knight of Camelot with his skills in battle alone. One had to have his wit about him, wisdom in all he did and say or not say, especially when it came to dealing with nobles.

So he dropped his questioning gaze, a slight incline of his head as he said:

“…Well, he could always hide and stay out of the way if anything were to happen.”

Before giving the prince a chance to reply, Merlin exclaimed from across the yard: “Everything’s ready, sire!”

Nodding instead to this, Arthur called out to all his men, his wistful demeanor long gone: “We ride till nightfall!”

And chorus of _‘Yes sir!’_ and they were off.

He didn’t think much of the strange exchange again until he realized who it was that was riding in the front alongside Arthur, that fact escaping his notice until they had to scale down a steep slope and Arthur made his manservant guide both his horse and his own till the ground was even. It was most probably done in jest; with the poorly concealed grin he sent his servant’s way at his disgruntled look.

Leon bit his lips. On hunts, he could understand; but now…it was almost as if the boy was scared of being parted from his master, whatever his reasons are. Then again, Leon shrugged—if anywhere was safe for the young lad, it was beside Arthur himself after all. He could and would not fault the logic behind his prince’s actions—not before this, and certainly not today.

Not a moment too soon, as if damning him for his wishful thinking, a rustle of leaves from their flank gave way to a war-cry, the Knights snapping into practiced ease as they unsheathed their swords and jumped off their horses, ready to intercept the bandits who was foolish enough to attack the worthy Knights of Camelot.

Reports of groups of bandits fleeing the neighbouring kingdom yesterday burned scathingly in his mind, reminding him of the intel they had received from the scouts. Heavily armed, number just over the average—but their skills were nothing to be afraid of. Perhaps it was this overconfidence, this lapse in judgement that had wore them faster than they had anticipated.

Whatever it was, the runaway bandits had managed to outnumber the troop sent out by the King himself, Leon barely holding out as their number finally dwindled under the force of the knights, painstakingly slow. Frantically searching for the prince in the midst of the battle ( _Must protect. Our priority—_ ), his shoulders sagged in relief at the fearsome prowess Arthur was showing at that moment, cutting down the lashing men around him with the help of Kay, a fellow knight he was familiar with.

To this chagrin, that moment of relapse cost him his precious focus and he hissed, a blade managing to cut deeply into his thigh before he collapsed on his knees, a knock in the head the last thing he registered before his vision blurred.

It must have been his eyes deceiving him, because he remembered seeing red and blue and warmth around his torso as the world went dark.

When he came to, the first thing he saw was fire, the crackle of wood disturbing the quiet in his ears.

Abruptly sitting up, a hiss escaped his mouth as he winced, clutching at this throbbing head. He tried to open his eyes but everything swam and he immediately closed them back. _Ugh._

_Concussion._ Mild, but he recognized the symptoms anywhere.

“Sshhh, easy there,” a voice said, soothing and familiar, hands prying his own from his head as he was forced to lie back down. _What happened…?_

He must have unknowingly voiced it out loud, because there was a weary chuckle to his left, the same voice muttering: “Well…you fell in battle with a head wound, and your thigh needed bandaging as well. Thankfully the leader of the bandits finally pulled back an…”

With the knowledge that they were safe, Leon tuned the rest of the sentence out, content on letting his mind rest. But not before he gasped, hands grasping the closest thing there was (an arm, who grasped him back in turn, steady and reassuring)-

“What about the prince?!” he exclaimed, turning his head to the presence beside him and he stopped as he stared at the pale boy in front of him. _Merlin._ How could he _forget-?_

A slow grin erupted on the servant’s face, mirth in his eyes as he replied, “Sleeping away. Like the lazy bum that he is.”

Closing his jaw with a snap, Leon gulped and turned to where Merlin was looking. There he was, arm bandaged, the bark of a tree supporting his back as he slumbered. 

“Is he injured…?”

“Yes, but not as bad as you thankfully,” assured the boy a little too quickly, dabbing the top of his head with a cloth and coming away with very little blood. His face broke in a smile, relief rolling of his shoulders.

All of a sudden, remembering the last view he had before blacking out, Leon blurted out: “Were you the one who pulled me to safety?”

That seemed to catch the boy off guard, as if he had expected the knight to not know at all (which was fair, he was pretty much out of it anyway). Sheepishly, Merlin sent a grin at him, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well…you were in the heat of it all and I couldn’t just stand by so…” shrugged off the lad, as if jumping into the fray when enemies were still on and about wouldn’t have costed his own life; as if it was no big deal at all.

Leon stared.

But before he could voice his gratitude, Merlin was already standing up, mumbling that he’ll be back with some water.

Reclining back onto the soft ground, the knight finally spotted the mess of bandages, herbs and other necessities he would usually see Gaius carry with him scattered just beyond his reach. Eyeing his neatly bandaged thigh, he noted with surprise that the throbbing was almost bearable when he tried to move it.

“Perhaps…I was mistaken,” mused Leon to no one in particular.

Merlin, who had just returned with a fresh skin of water blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?”

With a tentative smile, he carefully locked his eyes with the boy as he voiced:

“There is merit in bringing you along, after all. I’m sorry to have doubted you and Arthur’s decision.”

Something indiscernible flashed across the servant’s face, but curiously, there was no hurt, only acceptance. As if he has expected it.

Guilt settled uncomfortably in Leon’s stomach as Merlin started applying some sort of salve on the edge of his minor wounds, avoiding his gaze the whole time.

“…Merlin, I-”

But the boy just shook his head, lips curving up slightly on his face.

“I’m just doing my job, Leon. No need to apologize. Really.”

And Leon had no choice but to respect that. In the end, he just bobbed his head slightly in understanding (not too obvious that his headache would worsen, but enough that Merlin would know). Admiration for his tenacity sprouted in his chest, settling in comfortably as he watched Merlin leave his side to tend to Arthur.

* * *

The sight made his blood run cold. Eyes unseeing, skin as pale as snow, frost covering every inch of his body—worst of all, he was so _still_. The very picture of death, like so many others before him- 

Arthur’s hand visibly trembled as he scrambled to check Merlin’s pulse, the rest of them holding their breaths with dreaded horror hanging above them, the distant howls of the Dorocha the only thing filling the unnatural tranquillity of the night.

“…He’s alive,” croaked Arthur, voice barely above a whisper.

The chorus of sighs that echoed in the corridor was quickly silenced as Lancelot burst into action, heaving Merlin up, shouting: “Then we need to get him warm!”

That seemed to snap Arthur out of whatever trance he was in, the worthy Knight and Commander of the Army in him finally brought forth as he whirled to face them all, barking his orders, eyes ablaze: “Leon, Elyan, go back and secure our safe place! Gwaine, bring the firewood we gathered and take out the thickest sheet we brought- _Hurry!_ ”

As they all made haste to follow his instructions, Leon looked back to see the prince rounding up to Lancelot, gesturing wordlessly to Percival (the biggest, unmistakably the strongest among them) to carry Merlin instead.

The next time he saw Arthur, his face was pale and stricken, worry clinging onto his bones like a vice as he clenched his fists, never leaving Merlin’s side even as Lancelot fussed about the man with warm blankets and heated waterskins.

It was probably the fifth time that night Lancelot swapped the blanket currently wrapped around Merlin for a newly warmed one when Arthur’s hand reached out to stop him, resting slightly on the arm circling the back of Merlin’s shoulders to tuck the cloth in properly.

Leon watched keenly, wondering what their prince had decided to do now—as he was sure the other knights were too. They hadn’t spoken at all since they finished setting up camp, the silence as heavy as metal weights, dragging them all down into its abyss. And so Leon assigned their rotations, letting the others rest as he took first watch along with Lancelot (who had quietly turned down his offer to rest as well, to his frustration).

Throughout the night, Arthur adamantly refused to respond to Lancelot’s reassurances that it wasn’t his fault, shaking his head with a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Since then, the knight had stopped trying to console the prince, instead focusing all of his attention on making Merlin as comfortable as possible.

The two continued on this routine for a long while—Arthur sitting by Merlin’s side, every now and then cautiously checking his pulse before retracting his hand again, Lancelot gently prompting the frozen man to sip small doses of warm water before running back to keep watch when it was his turn. That is, until now.

“…Arthur?” prompted Lancelot, his tone hesitant. After a while, he seemed ready to pretend he didn’t hear anything until the prince audibly sighed.

“Forgive me, Lancelot,” murmured Arthur, regretful and tired. For not reacting well to his good intentions, for Merlin, Leon didn’t know. “Thank you for all you’ve done, but now it’s my turn—you should rest. Let me take care of Merlin.”

For his credit, Lancelot didn’t immediately answer, his mouth opening and closing, a whirlwind of emotions crossing his face as he struggled to find the right words to say.

“With all due respect…” he tried, his words deliberately slow, as if afraid he would offend the prince with his choice of words. “Merlin’s my friend, sire. I _want_ to do this.”

His voice was careful but firm, forcing Arthur to look him in the eyes. Some kind of understanding must have crossed between them, because the future king’s voice was soft and yet so heavy, packed with emotions he rarely ever showed anyone, as he breathed out:

“As am I.”

Gulping, Leon looked away from the intimate moment, feeling like he was intruding on something he had no right to see, an exchange best saved behind closed doors. He knew that despite the jeers and relentless teasing he gave on an almost daily basis, Arthur was rather fond of Merlin, and he himself had come to accept the gangly young man as a fellow brother-in-arm, a knight not in rank but by heart, as Gwaine had so often blurted out.

And today was another proof of how far he was willing to go for Arthur.

Seeing Arthur so broken up by his act of deed stirred something uncomfortable in him, his own concern for Merlin not helping his state of mind and he stopped trying to make sense of all this—Merlin’s not-immediate-death at the hands of the Dorocha, Arthur’s composure shattered before they could complete the quest, the fear of a sudden appearance of literal death at their doorstep any second now…

The sharp crackle of the fire they lit was the only sound they can hear, burning away the chilly air around them, for once the Dorocha nowhere near them.

Two, three seconds passed before he heard the crunch of dried grass and wood beneath boots, Lancelot’s figure retreating back the last thing he saw. 

* * *

The following morning, Arthur seemed to have gotten back to his senses, taking back the control Leon had wordlessly relinquished the moment the sun’s first rays of warmth greeted them. He was vibrating with nervous energy, the aftermath of the incident last night still fresh in his mind.

Even as he traded with Percival last night to keep watch, sleep did not come to him. Though he suspected none of them managed to anyway, what with the threat of the Dorocha so sudden and close by.

But Arthur had stopped ‘moping’ the moment the darkness gave way to the light, standing up from his stagnant position beside Merlin to finally address them all. Like moths drawn to a flame, they all waited for him, ready to be at his beck and call.

A single nod, and they got to work. Fires were put out, sheets of clothes put away, the limited supplies they brought with them stored back into their compartments.

Until only one issue was left, still half-frozen and vitals gradually slowing, the Dorocha’s impact surely chipping away at his lifeforce.

Lancelot continued his deed of assisting Merlin, covering him with the last blanket they hadn’t rolled, the eyes of the servant glazed and empty.

_Dying._

Leon gulped; his throat dry.

“We have to get him back to Gaius,” was the first thing that came out of Arthur’s mouth that morning and Leon knew he had misjudged the situation too soon. Alarm shot off in his head, his mind coming up with several different scenarios last night but this-

Staring incredulously at his prince, he bit out: “…and abandon the quest?”

The man, who he had sworn his life and blood to, his whole allegiance to, looked surer than ever before. Bloodshot eyes from his lack of sleep and fatigue, coupled with his mounting worry and stress, guilt in his soul—the prince had been hardening his resolve all night, he could see that now.

All of a sudden, it was so clear to him to see…that beneath all that was a young man afraid to lose a dear friend.

_This won’t do._

“He saved my life,” Arthur continued, steel gripping his voice despite how calm he delivered them, “I won’t let him die.” It was said with such clarity and finality that Leon started to really panic. Blue eyes were almost pleading for him to understand, and he did, for goodness’ sake! But this was _not the time_ \- 

“Sire,” he started, letting the gravity of his actions falling with every word he uttered, trying to sway him with if not duty, then at the very least _common sense_ \- “if we do not get to the Isle of the Blessed, _hundreds more will perish_.”

When the prince did not immediately come to a decision, his desire to save Merlin too strong to be simply brushed aside as he looked back again to regard his fading friend, Leon was starting to lose hope. 

Then Lancelot came to his rescue like a true knight in shining armour. It was very tempting to hug him in gratitude right then and there, but Leon squashed the urge down.

“I’ll take him.”

Arthur’s apprehension slowly ebbed away the more Lancelot explained his plan to him, convincing him that he could not, under _any_ circumstances, give up on the quest. The two men stared at each other a moment longer, their private exchange last night lighting up in Leon’s own memory without his prompting to his dismay.

A terse nod from Arthur, and Leon’s chest expanded in triumph.

_Thank you, Lancelot._

He watched as Arthur stiffly secured Merlin onto his horse, Gwaine helping on his other side. They seemed to be conversing rather heatedly (as heated as Merlin could get in that state, there really is no stopping him is there?) before Lancelot caught on, exclaiming loudly: 

“We need to leave.”

He watched them go, watched as Arthur stay rooted in place until they were no more than a speck of dust in the woods, Elyan quietly letting him know that they were ready to move.

Perhaps, when all of this was finished and behind them…if they all returned safely back home…he could thank Lancelot properly.

Until then—the Knights of the Roundtable shall resume their quest to the Isle of the Blessed with Arthur in the lead.

* * *

Merlin and Lancelot’s absence left a gaping hole in their journey.

Despite Gwaine’s resolve to keep rambling about nonsense day and night, there was a slump in his shoulders that was not there before. The fact that the fate of their friend hung on a lose string did not make matters any better.

And it was clear to see by anyone how it affected Arthur the most.

No more jokes. No more offhand, unprompted quips that would have undoubtedly came out of him if Merlin was here, his own strange way of lifting the spirit and the heavy mood usually surrounding missions such as this.

Arthur was quiet.

Not even Gwaine’s ridiculous antics could pull a smile out of him.

And if Leon were honest…it made his men uneasy, the impending doom that would befall them like a veil of hopelessness that could swallow them if they weren’t careful. The only consolation being the fact that they were doing _something_ to bring back order. 

But none of them had the will to tell their already disheartened prince of a matter as trivial as that. They would keep pushing—for him and for Camelot. 

(And between just themselves, for Merlin.)

So when Lancelot walked into their hideout unannounced, Merlin nowhere in sight, all Leon could hear was his own heart beating fast, his entire body freezing in horror. Not just for himself, but also for the man in front of him who-

“Bad news,” Lancelot started, his voice grim, eyes refusing to meet theirs.

_(Who looked like he was about to keel over in grieve.)_

A grin, cheeky and non-apologetic and- “He’s still alive.”

A chorus of ‘Merlin!’ filled the abandoned castle as that goofy, familiar face greeted them, looking all the world like he wasn’t just a hair-breadth away from death a few nights ago. Joy bursting in his chest, Leon tousled that unruly nest of raven on his head as he welcomed him back, the smile on his face so wide his cheeks started to protest.

As he made his way to Lancelot to properly thank him for more than one thing now, he caught the two uncanny friends awkwardly standing in front of each other; as for Arthur, taking in the fact that his close friend was definitely _not_ dying now. He looked so lost on how to deal with the sudden rush of relief he felt that Leon almost felt sorry for him.

But Leon supposed he had nothing to worry about Arthur’s emotionally-inept skills, because the prince finally let himself bring the younger man close as they walked side by side to their circle, arms around his shoulder as if grounding him. _He’s actually here,_ it screamed. _He’s real,_ and Leon couldn’t help but send a knowing smile Arthur’s way at this subtle display.

The genuine smile the prince sported that night he knew, small but beaming, was enough to put any of their worries to rest. _Nothing can stop them now_ , he felt it in his bones.

If anyone noticed that the prince happened to stay close to Merlin throughout their talk and after, they were wise enough to keep quiet and leave them be.

They both deserved that for all the trouble they’ve been through, at the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long one, but also my favorite probably. By writing down and analysing the scenes, it made me realize just how affected Arthur truly was in the episode, and now I can’t stop crying ahahha- but yes.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this POV from one of the knights! One more left hehe


End file.
